


a way through paths where wolves fear to prey

by notorious



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Mommy Kink, Oops, hope takes care of landon, this was not at any point supposed to be soft, this was not supposed to be this long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notorious/pseuds/notorious
Summary: trust — (noun.) something landon only ever gives to hope.
Relationships: Landon Kirby/Hope Mikaelson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	a way through paths where wolves fear to prey

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so this is unedited bc i don't actually want to read it. title from a lord byron quote.
> 
> times are tuff so if you like what i do, consider buying me a "coffee" right [here](https://ko-fi.com/danceswithghosts) !!

Hope doesn't actually remember how she wound up so close to Landon.

She remembers that first fateful day, remembers Raf and Landon side by side, remembers how awed and cautious they looked. A pair of mismatched siblings with starker contrast than the Saltzman twins, she remembers thinking; tall and eager Raf, holding on to the last of his wariness for his foster sibling's sake, and Landon, wide-eyed and weary, wise enough to know the Salvatore School was not in the stars but weak enough to wish and want and eventually plead for a place.

Only worked once Hope and Dr. Saltzman figured out they hadn't the slightest clue what they were dealing with.

Not with the knife, and certainly not with Landon.

“You're a _really_ nice person, Hope Mikaelson,” she remembers Landon saying the night she painted stars across the ceiling of the werewolf transition space with a spell.

Not that nice, she doesn’t think.

Certainly not now.

Now that Landon is far from a new part of her life, now that the school is _home_ , now that they’ve shared space for months, and shared trysts, stolen kisses, tucked away in corners, tucking into one another until breath is lost on them but they can’t find it in themselves to care, like there will never be enough time in the world to just _be_. Together.

Nice went out the window the day Hope figured out Landon _likes_ when she’s mean.

“Sit,” she remembers saying, pushing Landon down into her desk chair, “and _stay_ ,” she remembers, too, “and I don’t want to hear a peep out of you until that quiz review’s finished.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was all she got back, but the uptick in Landon’s heart rate did not go unnoticed.

Thirty-six minutes later Landon asked her, “How the _hell_ is this pronounced?” and tapped a woodcut print labeled _Ceasg_.

“Like kiosk,” Hope said, barely glancing up from the book in her lap, “but -ask instead of -osk.”

“Right.”

“You’d know that if you paid any attention to foreign linguistics,” she said without thinking.

“Ouch.”

But Landon was smiling.

“Sorry,” Hope said, fighting a grin of her own.

“Don’t be,” Landon told her. “I’m literally the most unlearned student this school has to offer.”

She’d reason otherwise, perhaps, if it weren’t so true.

Landon was, well — Landon.

Sweet, dopey, uncertain, clueless at times, but never unaware. Never blind to the fact that there would always be supernatural intricacies lost on her, gone over her head, or entirely under her radar.

Hope loved Landon for that, for knowing there would always be things she did not know. And Hope loved her for wanting to learn them, too.

“Maybe if you paid attention in class,” Hope teased.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Landon turned away from Hope’s desk, abandoned her open textbook, and shoved the sleeves of her overshirt up her forearms. “Can’t very much give my all to a lesson when you’re two desks away.”

“Why do you think I won’t sit next to you anymore, dummy?”

Hope loved Landon, too, for everything that she wasn’t.

Cocky, prideful, careless, to name a few. 

There were more, surely, and Hope could spend forever and a day listing everything that Landon was not, but nothing stood out greater than her lack of cynicism. Nobody with that much turmoil under their belt should be as innocent, as trusting, as readily wholesome as Landon, but Hope wouldn’t have her any other way.

Wouldn’t trade that stupid grin that shone back at her for anything in the world, she didn’t think. Nor would she trade the depths of those slate blue eyes that stared straight through to her soul, not when under Landon’s gaze was the first time in years she’d truly felt seen.

And she hadn’t pictured herself falling in love with a girl, not since she was fourteen, not since her week of Josie, but Landon felt different. Landon just _was_ , and it mattered not in the slightest that she was just that: a she.

Hope supposes falling for Landon happened by accident, as many things in her life have happened, but she wouldn’t change it.

Didn’t hurt that Landon was easy on the eyes, either, but it was more than that. It was more than messy black curls spilling over slim shoulders, framing soft angles, casting shadows on pale swaths of skin otherwise untouched. It was more than her smile, too, the smile she loved so much, Hope would have to say, because if not for the heart behind the face there would be little more for her to care about than a pretty girl with a pretty smile.

It was how when she beamed her face broke open, how the color of her eyes saturated in droves when she looked upon Hope, how her heart skipped a beat whenever their eyes met, how her skin prickled when they held hands, how the air around them seemed to crackle as soon as it was just the two of them. Was also the safety Hope felt in Landon’s arms, the stability she found in someone so mundane, so pure, unbiased by supernatural standards, and hell, it was even the five inches Landon had on her. Those five inches made it so easy for Hope to tuck into her neck, nestle against her chest, tuck in and hunker down and simply occupy space and nothing more. Helped that she felt it was somewhere she belonged, somewhere she felt wanted, and that Landon never asked anything of her other than to be herself.

There was something perverse about the world’s most powerful being, a creature that should never have been, a union of three, a trilogy in singularity, finding her greatest security in the arms of a girl who  —  until recent revelations — was known only to be little more than a human with supernatural difficulties.

Something perverse, too, about how natural it felt.

“Here I was thinking you switched seats because you were having trouble keeping your hands off of me,” Landon said.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Hope said.

“Ouch.”

“Please.” Hope closed her book on her thumb, cocked her chin, and raised a brow at her girlfriend. “We both know how useless you are when I’m around.”

“ _Ouch_.” Landon paused, considered, grinned. “Say that again.”

“How useless you are when I’m in the room?” Hope would’ve laughed if she weren’t busy noticing things.

Things like Landon’s eyes going cloudy, like her bottom lip stalling trapped between her teeth, like her brows jumping in time with her little nod.

“Yes.”

Hope would’ve kept her mouth shut, rolled her eyes, gone back to reading if it weren’t for the look painted across Landon’s face. The eager look, same one she got after the bell, after the one class they didn’t share, while she waited to catch her first glance of Hope from a spot against the wall in the hallway.

“It’s like I turn your brain to mush,” Hope said gently, finally laughing, but only because Landon’s smile wouldn’t stop growing and she wasn’t sure where this whole exchange was going to take them but she was fairly certain she’d have beaten a bloody path through an angry mob to find out.

“And?”

“And?” Hope shook her head, crooked her finger, beckoning her girlfriend to join her atop the unmade bed. “It’s like I make you helpless. Like you’d lose your own head if it wasn’t right there on your shoulders.”

Landon hummed, sinking down beside Hope. “What else?” she asked, hopeful.

“You want me to tell you how many times you’d have died if it weren’t for me?”

Forget the fact that, for Landon, to die only meant to be reborn again. Wasn’t the point.

“Yes.”

Hope reached for her, brushed fingertips over Landon’s collar, let them drift past her throat, said, “You need me,” and took her by the chin, forced her gaze, and found herself surprised at how wide Landon’s pupils had blown. “Isn’t that right?”

A nod.

“As messy as I make you,” Hope told her, “you’d be _nothing_ without me.”

“I’d never recover.”

“You’d be a wreck,” Hope said.

“I’d be in ruins,” Landon offered.

“Aren’t you always?”

“Ruin me,” Landon whispered, two steps away from a plea.

Hope noticed a whole slew of things that night.

Is still noticing things now, in fact, like how Landon’s tone is never the same when she mumbles, “Need you to take care of me,” but it always conveys the same need, the same urgency. She notices how sweetly Landon’s longing to be coddled juxtaposes the months they spent butting heads over her stubborn insistence that she was capable of holding her own, competent enough to take on Salvatore’s latest monster of the week alongside the super squad, strong enough not to need Hope to swoop in and save her at the eleventh hour.

It’s old news, however, to the both of them, how grateful Landon’s always been to have Hope come to her rescue.

Just a different kind of rescuing she needs now.

One that doesn’t involve dire supernatural threats so much as it involves lasting emotional wounds that can only be remedied by precious specificities.

Like letting Landon sneak under her arms while she’s reading at the end of a long day, letting her push her shirt up over her chest, free her breasts, and wrap her lips around a nipple. Hope’s learned not to bat an eye, just to lose a hand in loose black curls and cradle Landon’s head to her chest while she goes right on reading. It’s comforting, really, and a steady kind of heat and pressure that makes her want to protect Landon from the world more than she thinks she’s ever wanted to before.

Maybe because it makes Landon feel small to her, more helpless than she’s ever been, in greater need of watching over than even in that first month when shit was haywire and no one was safe. Or it’s because in those moments, Landon’s mouth at her breast, tongue warm and wet and insistent against her sensitive skin, hand grasping at her side, that Hope feels the perfect amount of needed. Like she’s right where Landon needs her to be and nothing ever needs to change.

Things do change, as they tend to, but only for the better.

First comes graduating from hands to toys, from Landon whining for fingertips teasing against her hole to begging Hope to fill her, to _fuck_ her, to stretch her open with a strap and leave her empty and leaking when she’s done.

It’s somewhere in-between “take care of me” taking on a new meaning and Landon developing a hunger for Hope ruining her that the tribrid realizes just how much she enjoys indulging her girlfriend on whims of sapphic thirst.

Doesn’t matter if it’s Landon pulling at her hand, guiding it to her throat, and coaxing her to squeeze while Hope’s sheathed in her cunt; doesn’t matter if five minutes into swapping spit, soon as they’re down to their underwear, Landon rolls onto her belly and props up on her knees, silently and at once both offering and pleading; doesn’t matter if Landon whimpers and whines, begs and pouts, pleads with her eyes until Hope manhandles her into submission because it’s always sweeter when she’s sore and bruised and painted with love the next morning.

Hope likes it all.

It doesn’t even matter the first time Landon mumbles “yes, mommy” instead of “yes, ma’am.”

Takes maybe three and a half seconds for Hope to realize that, yes — _hell_ — she really fucking likes that, too.

Takes about another four to put two and two together and understand where exactly Landon’s need to be taken care of comes from.

A millisecond more to know, deep in her bones, that she doesn’t care _why_ Landon needs the things she does. At that moment Hope cares only whether or not she can _give_ Landon those things.

And she can.

She’s been doing it since way back before she even understood what it was Landon needed at all.

Now she understands a nuzzle means _hold me_ , a whine means _baby me_ , a pout means _love me_ , and a “take care of me” means all three.

She understands, too, that however long they’ve been playing this game, however at peace Landon is with the issues fueling the fire of her deepest desires, she always needs coaxing to get where she wants to be. And Hope is always happy to oblige.

Especially now.

Now, while Landon’s red in the face, biting down a pout, and a blush is creeping down her neck to paint pink across the collarbones visible beneath the wide open collar of an old flannel that up until ten minutes ago had been buttoned to the top. 

If Hope reaches out, if she so much as touches a fingertip to Landon’s skin, she’ll find it warm, she knows, almost hot, scalding as human flesh can get without burning, but they’re not there yet.

They’re sprawled out on Hope’s bed, a laptop on the bedside table, and the soft sound of mindless dialogue from a movie they’ve both seen before spills into the room like fog over a forest floor. 

It’s easier for Landon when there’s background noise, when she isn’t forced to face the facts of everything in her past that’s led her to needing Hope like this, brought her to long for someone to take care of her in ways so intimate it turns her shy just to think about, and have to do it in silence to boot. If Hope didn’t like her shy, didn’t like her bashful and eager, the embarrassment might outweigh the reward.

Landon’s fingers are uncertain against Hope’s stomach when she reaches for the buttons of her blouse, unsteady, eyes unsure when she looks up to her girlfriend’s face, and her voice nearly cracks when she asks, “Can I?”

“I’ve already told you yes,” Hope tells her impatiently, but not unkindly, busying herself with drawing a hand up under Landon’s top to coast the slow curve of her side, to drags nails against her rib cage, until she skips over her chest entirely in favor of taking Landon by the chin and forcing her gaze. “If you ask me again, my answer will change. Don’t waste my time.”

“Sorry,” Landon mutters, fingers fumbling around buttons.

“What’s that, baby?”

“Said sorry,” Landon tells her, thumbing open the final button, heaving a sigh as she pushes Hope’s shirt open over her chest. “Mommy.”

Hope says, “Go on,” and drops Landon’s chin.

Neither of them are ever sure whether Landon’s shaky hands and bated breath have more to do with the touch of skin against skin, the amassing of anticipation, or the hesitance to fully commit to the act, but they’re both unsure it matters much. It takes two, they say, to tango, and this dance is no different.

Landon needs Hope to lead her, show her the steps, no matter how many times they’ve taken them before, because there’s something about regression that makes her need to be led outweigh her desire to be attended to.

“’M wet,” Landon admits.

“I know,” Hope hums, slipping a hand into Landon’s curls to tug her down, lead her in, and guide her mouth to a rosy nipple.

Only lets her have at the tender flesh for a minute, maybe less, until she comes to a decision.

“Show me,” Hope says next.

“Mmm?”

“You heard me.”

She wasn’t sure a darker shade of red was possible on such pale cheeks, but there it is, front and center, swathed across Landon’s face like a meteor in the night sky as she sits up and sheds a layer, leaving her in polka-dotted boxer briefs.

However, she _is_ sure that Landon on her back, wiggling out of her underwear while trying not to be shy but somehow also desperate to present herself, is the damn prettiest sight she’s ever seen.

Soft, Hope thinks, the way Landon won’t meet her look until she’s stripped all the way down and no longer has an excuse not to meet the tribrid’s eyes.

Precious, she thinks next, how Landon’s curls spill out over the pillow when she settles back and takes a deep breath, finding her comfort.

Beautiful, she knows, because out of everything that Landon isn’t, it’s one of Hope’s favorite things that she _is_. Landon is long legs and lithe muscle, soft skin that’s firm beneath and warm to the touch, a gentle mind and a gentle heart, and Hope’s never enjoyed playing with something so much.

_Someone_.

All she has to do is raise a brow and Landon’s legs fall open, but she says, “Show me,” again anyhow, because the words feel sweet on her tongue and taste even sweeter out of her mouth, and she’s not the only one who thinks as much if the uptick in her girlfriend’s breath is anything to go by.

“Please,” Landon starts, and, “ _No_ ,” Hope tells her.

Would’ve been easy even without the lupine enhancement for Hope to take Landon by the knees and pull her legs over her lap, so she can’t close them, so she’s laid out in all her glory.

“Your blush is almost the same color as this little hole,” Hope says, spreading her open with a thumb on either side before dipping one in and drawing it away slick and shiny. “Cute.”

“M—”

“I said no,” Hope tells her. “Hand me my phone.”

“Oh G—”

“Landon.”

“ _Hope_.”

“No.”

“ _Mommy_.”

“Phone. Now.”

To Landon’s credit, she hands Hope her cell without another sound.

It’s only when Hope clicks open her camera that Landon starts to whimper. Soft little whines, quiet as a docile spring wind, but each and every one reaches Hope’s ears with enough volume to shake her to her core. She’d bottle the sound and take it with her to her grave if she could.

Meantime.

“Hold yourself open for me, sweet girl. Mommy wants a souvenir.”

And maybe it’s because Landon has a thing for taking orders, another for being made to put herself on display, and one more for the way Hope’s voice drops around _mommy_ , that without hesitation she reaches down between her thighs and spreads her cunt open for Hope to inspect.

She’s pink, and obscenely slick, and it’s damn hard for her not to keep clenching around nothing when the girl she loves is between her legs just _looking_. Even harder not to let her hips buck up with each second that passes without a single touch from Hope other than where the backs of her thighs rest over the tribrid’s lap.

Humiliating, in a word.

Excruciating, in another.

So sinfully sweet, in three.

“Such a good girl,” Hope mutters around a smirk, steadying her phone, focusing the camera. A single picture is all she takes; just one is always enough.

Devastating, to put it lightly, when Hope shoves her legs back, pushing Landon’s knees toward her chest, and slips out from under her.

Heartbreaking, maybe, as she watches Hope button her shirt back up and tuck it into the band of her skirt.

“If you haven’t reduced yourself to tears at your own shame by the time I get back,” Hope starts, slipping on her flats, “I’ll stuff you full of my cock.”

“ _Hope_.”

“You never learn, do you?” Hope asks from the door, brows raised, head cocked.

No, they both know, Landon never does.

She’d never leave Landon, not really, not when it mattered. But when it was for something to satiate her sweet tooth while her precious little prey laid open and wet and willing? That she could do. That wouldn’t last more than ten minutes. That wouldn’t actually hurt, because she’d never hurt Landon, either. Not truly.

Coax her to ruins and leave her teetering on the edge, however?

_That_ was all part of taking care of Landon Kirby.

“This is _my_ world,” Hope clarifies for her, “you’re just living in it.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on twitter @TRIBRlD if u are so inclined


End file.
